Obligation
by Jennifer Jolie
Summary: (YES! It's an update!) The oracle said I would fall in love with the One. She never said that he would love me back.
1. Chapter one

If I should die this very moment 

_I wouldn't fear_

_For I've never known completeness_

_Like being here_

_Wrapped in the warmth of you,_

_Loving every breath of you-_ Gorecki, Lamb

You watch him. His eyes are closed, blissfully closed. You wouldn't want him to see how you didn't dare to touch him. It wouldn't do to have him know how you could only stand by the side and watch, perhaps trying to remove the crimson stain of the after-effects of his reality from his lips. You didn't know how to reach him. Face it, you're too goddamned scared to.

I want to tell you something… but I'm afraid of what it could mean if I do. Everything the Oracle told me, has come true. Everything but this.

Of all the cryptic, nonsensical and pointless things to say to him. 

You haltingly stretch out a hand – stroke his face as gently as you know how. His forehead is slightly damp with sweat, but cold, cooler than your soft touch on his skin. Cold and clammy, every inch like death. You run your fingers through his hair, parting his short fringe slightly to the side. Distantly you recall the shred of cloth you'd torn from your shirt sleeve just moments ago, dabbing at his mouth with it. He's bleeding again. Inwardly you wanted to scream. You want to jack into the Matrix, into _him_, to just say everything, everything you've ever known. How many nights have you stood framed in his doorway, wishing for impossible moonlight to justify the darkened sleeping figure in the room? 

You've argued that you had tried to show how you feel for him. You'd brought him his dinner when he was sleeping. Until you were _caught_ by Cypher, that is. Which hour of which day had you not missed an opportunity to reach over and take his hand, to smile at him, to even talk to him?

He deserved the same treatment as any other rookie, regardless of how you feel. Even regardless of how you're supposed to feel.

But to you… he was never 'any other rookie'.

He suddenly jolts in his chair, shaking the protesting metal as he writhes, convinced of the bullets ripping through his flesh. Ten. Thirteen. 

You cry out, why isn't he listening?

Staggering back, facing the agent; trying so hard to find a foothold with just the material of his shirt, snagging, and sagging against the rough wooden wall behind him. Splinters prick his skin and mind. 

Defined and confined by the uninterrupted straight barrier of his own heartbeat, as if it was the only thing keeping him from life, he'd fought, and he'd died. Like they'd said he would. Like you believed he would.

He was no different after all. He didn't deserve death.

You will no longer have to live in the needless shadow of your fear of what you feel for him, you cowardly slut. It is always this song, love and loss, breath and bloodshed and-

Red alert. 

"Here they come," Morpheus voices out grimly.

Sentinels, killing machines, search and destroy. Crippled bolts of blue lightning, red pulsating lights like eyes. They seep arachnophobia, yet are perfectly machine. Search and destroy. They land on the roof, thundering through the entire ship, the impact so great it seemed that it was a magnet for them. Supplies are flung off their shelves, clattering noisily to the ground.

Calculative hands slowly lift the plexiglass shield from above the EMP. To think a simple switch would temporarily demagnetize anything within the ship's blast radius and render the machines completely useless-

"We can't use that until he's out," you burst out uneasily. Unnecessarily. There's nothing you can do.

The top of the ship clangs as an enormous dent appears there. The pounding causes the floor to vibrate like a gong, and you almost lose your footing. You cling on to him. He is still plugged in.

Morpheus slips and his hands slide from the EMP. He stiffens – glances at you. "What do you mean, 'until he's out'?"

"He's dead, dammit," Tank snapped bitterly, "use the damn EMP, Morpheus."

Your hands brace his shoulders. He's real and warm beneath your touch, he's not a ghostly vapor or a still corpse. It's not a matter of choice; you simply cannot fathom that he is not alive. 

Metal shrieks as the sentinels seer the Nebuchadnezzar open like pie crust.

"Trinity, what the hell is the matter with you?" Tank strides over. He forces your hands out of the way and shakes Neo roughly by the shoulders. "Look, he's not bloody breathing. Now will you get a grip on yourself?"

You slap him across the face as hard as you can.

He's not what you're here for.

The monitors are lying, you can almost feel his heart beating. He hasn't paled, not at all. He's not numb, and he's not in pain. He's not dead. He's not dead. 

You have to give him air.

Your hand shakes as you reach behind his neck, to feel where his head is connected to the rest of the lifeless machines. There is no time for confessions of the heart. You wish you could hold him, you will him to feel you near him. Your eyes close. Bending down, you touch your lips to his. He is still so warm. 

And you breathe life into him.

Tank is scrambling up from the floor. You can't care less where the captain is. Crackling sparks shoot from where the sentinels are cutting through the floor. A grating from one of the upper decks crashes down. Distantly you hear Tank's laughter ringing in your ears. He shouts to you.

"He's not your precious liberator, Trinity…"

You are too afraid, that Tank could be right, to tell Neo that you love him.

Morpheus shouts something to Tank.

Neo's pulse flickers.

Sentinels, like a gust of wind, streak into the ship, tunneling through a jungle gym of flimsy metal. Everything in their path is crushed like paper.

Neo shivers in his chair; you can't see the code, can't see what he's doing. You place your hand where his heart is. You feel his chest rising and falling.

Hurry, Neo. Come back.

There is an ear-splitting yell from someone – Tank? Morpheus? – accompanied by a distinctly wet, weak cry. You turn and come face to face with a sentinel. It lashes its tentacles like a thousand metal-plated whips. It's not aimed at you. It's here for Neo.

"_No_!" 

Scream, half turn to face Neo at the same time. His eyes are still sealed. 

_But you know._

You all but rip the plug out from his head, just at the sentinel breaks cover and dives. 

Someone turns the EMP.

You throw yourself over Neo, burying your head into the curve between his neck and shoulder, shielding yourself with your hands. You feel a faraway feeling of completeness, long forgotten. If you should die this very moment, you won't fear. Neo's all that matters-

The screeching chatter of the sentinels halts suddenly, as energy is jerked from their shells. You hear muffled pounding on the deck as they collapse, one by one. Your heart is hammering in your chest like you've been running for cover for a century. 

In between your gasping you feel his warm, even breathing tickling your cheek.

Rising slowly, you're but a breath away from him. He's never looked more beautiful, more alive to you before this, and his almond eyes are already open. Half the lights on the ship have been taken out, and to you, he's glowing, a light in the dark.

Everything is perfect except the look on his face.

Frowning, he regards you with painful innocence. Confused.

"Trinity…?"

In that one moment, everything breaks. You can't face him. Your mind screams at you to stay, but you pull away from Neo, breaking eye contact. You're shaking as you scrutinize his chair, pretending to be doing the routine equipment check.

Now will you get a grip on yourself?

You're in love with him.

It isn't real.

"Trinity?" He sits up, you're there and you attempt to support him, but your hands stop about a mile away from his body. For some reason, uncontrollable guilt of some kind etches itself over your expression. 

You're afraid.

He touches his lips. No blood runs down his fingertips, thank God. He's safe now. 

"Trinity?" That same voice again. He asks a thousand questions and answers them in that one word, your name, and you want that sound to stay in your head forever. You've waited for this moment. 

"Sentinel attack." You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself when it feels like the earth is rocking on its axis. It's a fight to remain calm, and you win. "Are you alright?"

You've waited for this moment. And you've let it go.

Neo rests his head on his hand, shutting his eyes. He waits before he speaks. "My… my head… feels a bit strange…" He looks back up at you with that sheepish look on his face again. You've never given a thought as to how adorable he looks. "I think I'll be alright."

You manage quick nod before it spills from the top of your tongue, "Do you… do you remember anything?"

Neo chuckles shortly. "Dying? It wasn't fun." He glances down. "I… I felt like there was someone holding me up. Air was just rushing into my lungs… I don't know, Trinity, I don't know."

Your hearts drops into your stomach. It hurts to swallow. 

He doesn't remember anything.

He doesn't know-

But you've told him.

He didn't hear you.

"Neo-"

"Neo." Morpheus rises, clinging on to various paraphernalia as he precariously approaches where you are. 

"Captain."

"How do you feel, Neo?"  
  


"Alright, sir." He squirms a little. Some preposterous part of you points out that he doesn't tell the captain what he tells you.

"Much has been lost. But… you are the One, Neo."

Something cracks inside. You recall you wanted to be the one to tell him that.

"Trinity?"

You wish he would stop saying that. As if you weren't already about to lose control.

Morpheus turns to you. You're still his right-hand man. "We will need to head back to Zion as quickly as we can to recharge the ship. We will… we will need a new crew." He swallows. "And a new operator."

Tank.

Neo is looking at you oddly.

"Trinity." Now Morpheus is ogling you like a display case in a museum. "Are you feeling well?"

Your eyes are lifeless where they are staring at the stuffing that has erupted from Neo's headrest, where your nails have been digging into the fabric. Yet you feel them tearing up. It's just been a long day, you may feel about to collapse in on yourself, but you won't cry. You can't. Not now. 

Your chest tightens as you breathe in slowly. 

"Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter two

Many thanks to Raen for the Shakespearean know-how. Thanks to Perthro for the beta reading. *tosses Zion about* Wobbly jello Zion! Thank you Gypsy for the beta reading, and for "Neo and Trinity, polka dancing, wearing polka dots, in polka ville on Zion's polka-night." Hugs to Jie and Pinsan!   
  
This fic is for Centaur at the moment, being mostly hers anyway. I don't have much heart to write after seeing Revo, but I'll keep it up for her sake. And anyone else's.   
  
Chapter two   
Frankly, you don't want to be here. From where you stood for your coronation of sorts, few recognize you up close as Neo, the One. That doesn't stop the girl with the two ponytails and unusually long eyelashes from offering you drinks, a sloppy smile on her face suggesting she'd had at least half the bar by herself. You'd taken one on the third offer and placed it in someone else's hand as soon as you could, but you weren't particularly looking forward to doing it all night.   
  
Moving's not an option when it's between the bargirl and the dancing. At least no one has tried to pull you off your feet yet. You can deal with a few staggering teenage girls here and there.   
  
It feels almost like being back in the Matrix, being lost in a foreign crowd of gleeful faces, nearly leering as they pass you by. These are people like people torn out randomly from a scrapbook, from a flashy fashion magazine, all thrown together into one risqué jamboree. It is Mardi Gras in the underworld, and it's everyone's party but yours.   
  
You heard your name called out, following your new title, this is the One, Zion. The crowd roared like a furnace, and the sound echoes in your head, even now.   
  
It's been six months since you arose to your heightened state. All this while, you never questioned that force that you know you felt reviving you, pulling you through when the world was all dark. You stopped bullets, you freed minds. You are essentially the hero they've been waiting for.   
  
Yet it feels like there's something missing.   
  
You absent-mindedly sip the drink in your hand – it's warm and tastes more like brine than anything else. You sniff it. Completely non-alcoholic. The barmaid must genuinely like you, then.   
  
Your newfound abilities as the One never cause you doubt. Yet some days, like now, it feels like the only thing you want to do with wake up again, wake from this reverie and realize, why. Why you? How?   
  
You know the answers are out there, somewhere.   
  
Still, that's not all you've been troubled about.   
  
You set the glass down, staring off into space, somewhere over the heads of the leaping crowds. These are your people, now. One dancer, perspiring profusely, drains the glass you left on the ledge. You observe that the glasses are filled with isotonic beverages rather than depressants, hence the salty taste. Not a bad idea.   
  
"Neo?"   
  
You glance up sharply, recognizing that voice. Trinity. The irony. You're in time to catch the curve of her lips, around your name. You've been watching that a lot lately.   
  
"You're here, then."   
  
She makes her way over to you, never once breaking eye contact. You never see her looking down. She walks as though she's floating, sometimes.   
  
"Link is with Zee. Morpheus-" she blanches, "Morpheus was with Niobe a while ago."   
  
And she's with you?   
  
You can't say that.   
  
"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, somewhat cautiously. She's not herself tonight. This is not the Trinity you've known, with sweat gleaming on her chest, carved in a lavish V; you don't recognize the wild beauty who a thousand men must have asked to dance with tonight.   
  
You sit with her. You want to know the woman under the role she plays, right-hand man onboard the ever-sailing ship.   
  
She chooses her words carefully as she looks out over the sea of people, where their dance is like a tide sweeping across the shore. She says what you least expect her to. "Do you ever think about your family, Neo?"   
  
She must have been thinking of Link and Zee.   
  
Trinity sits delicately on the bench, legs folded beneath her, resting her weight on one hand. You're distracted by the distance between her hand and yours, but you want to follow her gaze.   
  
"They weren't my real family."   
  
You manage five words without stumbling.   
  
She shrugs lightly. Your gaze drops to her bare shoulders. "It was as good as it gets, wasn't it?"   
  
"It's about… taking what you've got," you muse out loud. You've never thought of it this way.   
  
"Everything you've been given," she counters. You've never thought of it that way, either.   
  
You reply with a laugh, "You still can't choose your family, huh."   
  
Trinity's even gaze holds you in your place and holds your tongue. "And then there are obligations."   
  
She's as serious as she ever was. It seems that every time you try to make her smile – that's all, just to see her happy, once in a while – she pins you down again. You wish you could explain.   
  
"I was thinking of some aunt I once had," you add sheepishly. Trinity looks at you again. "I saw her every Friday for tea, she used to pinch my cheeks and stuff me with jam cookies."   
  
She doesn't answer right away, but you're certain you see the corners of her mouth twitch. People keep passing the bench to stare. You must look familiar to them. At least four amblers have passed before Trinity speaks again.   
  
"You know," she licks her lips, "I used to have a sister."   
  
She's studying your expression like she's trying to read a map.   
  
"Quiet, kept to herself mostly. She was a bit like you."   
  
You swallow. Your hand hasn't moved an inch, but surely you're two inches closer to Trinity than where you were.   
  
"What happened to her?"   
  
She shrugs again. Beautiful. "She fell in love with someone, and didn't say a word to him. She smiled when he was around, and when he wasn't."   
  
So she had a lot of smiles.   
  
"She learned to smile at her grief."   
  
You don't know where those words came from.   
  
Trinity looks at you curiously.   
  
You ask, "Then what happened to her?"   
  
"I don't know. She…" Trinity hesitates. "She… she wasn't freed."   
  
You want to hit yourself. Of course Trinity had lost contact with whomever she had known before. "I'm sorry."   
  
Trinity shakes her head. "I should be sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with stories… you have enough to deal with already." Her gaze burns into you, even when you look down at your lap.   
  
There's a light pressure on your right hand. You are startled to find Trinity's hand resting on yours.   
  
She regards you evenly as usual, but her today her eyes are not ice. "You still can't sleep?"   
  
You try not to look suspiciously at her. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Half the ship can hear you walking around at night, Neo."   
  
You recall the one night you actually tried walking around wearing only your socks, and almost froze to the deck of the ship. After that you'd kept your boots on, at night too.   
  
"If you're afraid of something…" Her hand loosely holds yours.   
  
"Of what?"   
  
She fidgets. Her eyes keep darting over your shoulder, as if to look at someone behind, but there are only a few girls who've been there for the past hour or so. "Sleeping. If the captain hears that you sleep one night a week-"   
  
"It's not sleeping I'm afraid of," you admit wearily. "I've been… they're… they're just dreams."   
  
You carefully avoid Trinity's gaze this time, but you don't move your hand.   
  
The same bargirl drifts by again, brandishing her wares and cooing. You signal to Trinity that you want to leave. She doesn't seem to get the message. Finally you tug gently on her hand, and she gets up with you. Blindly you push through the crowds, trying to remember where you saw the other cluster of empty benches.   
  
Your insides lurch suddenly as you realize that you've just pulled her onto the dance floor.   
  
The ground quivers with the thousands of gyrating crowds. The cave looks like one enormous salad bowl, with its people being tossed around. You feel Trinity squeeze your hand gently, fingers interlaced with yours.   
  
If I've just asked you to dance with me, Trinity, I'm sorry… Please don't take this the wrong way, but-   
  
Jostled by the crowd, you inadvertently take another step towards her. Your shoulders touch. Her skin feels like it's on fire…   
  
"Do you know that girl?" Trinity asks carefully. She means a girl from the group earlier, the one with the waist-length brown hair who's just pointed excitedly in your direction.   
  
"She's scaring me," you mutter. Someone knocks into you and your shoulder hits Trinity's again.   
  
The whole group of teenaged girls – around six – begins giggling. You catch a strain of their conversation.   
  
"… I don't know who Neo's dancing with, do you think he'll dance with me?"   
  
Trinity shoots you a disgusted look. You can't tell if it was meant for you or for them. "I don't know them," you say hurriedly, "but they were clustered there before you came."   
  
She shakes her head. "Fangirls." Her gaze drops. "Good move, they won't follow you here. Most just come to stare."   
  
The same girl is definitely staring at you with enormous brown Bambi eyes under glimmering eyelids.   
  
One of them catches sight of Trinity at long last and says, rather audibly, to the first, "You think she's with him? What a slut! Do you think I'll be able to get rid of her?"   
  
Trinity ignores them, this time. It's clear she's not the least bothered. She catches you looking at the first girl.   
  
"A little young for you, don't you think, Neo?" she comments dryly.   
  
You can't tell if she's joking or not. Someone lands crushingly on your foot. Holding hands almost feels a bit silly with so many gazes boring into you.   
  
"Shh, he was looking at Joo just now!"   
  
The girl with the waist-length hair blushes but brightens. "Maybe he'll dance with me!"   
  
You feel uncharacteristically nervous as the girl starts making her way over to you through the crowd. "Trinity," you mumble, "I'd better leave."   
  
Without a word Trinity turns and heads in the opposite direction of your pursuers, pulling you along. Maybe she's used to this, or maybe she just knows Zion better than you do. So far, you've only devised one definite route to your room, and you don't even know if that's where she's taking you. Several men brush aggressively close against Trinity as you follow her – most probably on purpose – but she somehow endeavors to remain relatively unscathed. Her hand is warm, reassuring, holding on to yours tenaciously, yet she glances back often, expression suggesting that you're stalking her and she can't shake you, though most likely the look isn't directed at you.   
  
"Where are we going?" you finally manage to say, as Trinity slows her pace. You've made it to the other side of the thundering crowds. The ground shakes under your feet and the cadence of the drumming is everywhere in you.   
  
"There'll be more of them outside your room," Trinity mutters grimly, "and if you're unlucky, inside your room too."   
  
You probably pale, but then Trinity's grip on your hand tightens. Joo has crept up behind you and is barely two meters away. She has a shy smile pinned to her face. Adorable though she may be, she's really not your type. And if she asks you to dance, the rest will follow.   
  
Where are all the teenaged boys in Zion?   
  
You sink into a half-crouch, but everyone has seen you already. You're near enough to whisper into Trinity's ear, "Where are the nearest stairs?" You figure you can put a good distance between the girls and yourself, if stairs are really that difficult to climb in a dress.   
  
Trinity, though, has other ideas. "The stairs we have are unsafe, and for emergencies only," she whispers back. You're aware of her hand, more on your waist than your shirt hem, carefully steering you backwards through the crowd.   
  
By now, Joo has caught up. "Neo, I'll dance with you!" she proclaims.   
  
You stare.   
  
"Nobody has danced with you at all, Neo," she giggles, "you must be so lonely."   
  
Trinity stares. She still has her hand on your waist. This must be an awkward situation for her.   
  
"We- I was just leaving," you mumble.   
  
Joo visibly wilts, like a plant that hasn't been watered in a week. "Oh… but you're coming back, aren't you?"   
  
You hope not. Inadvertently you take another step back. "Maybe later."   
  
Joo recovers instantly, brushing hair away from her face and smiling at you. "Oh, great!"   
  
She runs back and you distinctly hear her squealing, "He says he'll come back and dance with us! He talked to me!" Her voice is glazed with sugar.   
  
Trinity stares stoically ahead, gazing at what looks to you like a dark tunnel somewhere across the floor. "Do you still want to go?"   
  
She takes your silence as consent and you walk with her, side by side. If she ever had to deliver a package in the Matrix, she would undoubtedly play the soldier and you, the cargo. You know now why few others on board find her iron discipline unnerving. It's a part of who Trinity is.   
  
The passageway is dim, but you recognize it to be similar to the one you entered Zion by. The two of you are painfully alone in the deserted corridor. Trinity keeps glancing at you out of the corners of her eyes. Her hand slips off your waist after a while. Your heart slips into your stomach. It feels now as if she was only keeping it there as long as necessary.   
  
The corridor narrows, and you still haven't thought of anything to say to her. The dancers you left behind long ago, but you can still hear the rhythm of the music, which you realize that, in an odd way, you had been following. In a completely crazy way, you think, almost laughing, until she released you, you'd been dancing with Trinity.   
  
You pause to catch your breath, Trinity stopping to stand beside you, breathing ragged from the run. You can just make out the sweat shimmering on her skin in the faint light. You can tell she's about to say something, but she's cut off by an unearthly screech.   
  
"Neo!"   
  
A voice wails down the tunnels, echoing around the corridor, especially ominous. You wonder if Zion ever celebrates Halloween.   
  
"You didn't say when you'd be back, Neo!"   
  
This time, you clutch Trinity's arm, steering her along like a jealous husband. You can barely make out her expression, but is resembles one of surprise, unsurprisingly.   
  
Blindly you stumble down the tunnel. You can hear the girls behind you, and you frankly can't care less where this passageway goes. You can just see brighter lights, quite a distance away. You speed up.   
  
Just in time to crash into a wall.   
  
You thrust out a hand in time to stop yourself from ramming into the wall head on, scraping your palm on the sharp, uneven piping jutting out of the wall. Trinity crashes into you from behind. It's a strange tango, where you attempt to fling your partner into the nearest obstacle but miss. Just for an instant, her chest presses into your back, her head leans on your shoulder, her lips are too close to your neck and you're too distracted by her heart beating to move.   
  
The sensation evaporates like alcohol on your skin as you begin pulling Trinity along again, groping your way along the wall with your cut hand to avoid missing sharp turns. You wonder if she should be leading – she could probably navigate Zion in her sleep – but she seems quite content to let you handle it.   
  
Two more sharp left turns and you're still running. Your breath comes quickly and your throat is dry. The lights are getting brighter. Your left hand stings until it has almost no feeling, and your right hand feels as if it is about to pop from its socket from holding Trinity's for so long – the palm of the hand doesn't mind. You turn right. What you see makes you stop again.   
  
Ships, rows and rows of hovercrafts, like wheat fields. To your eyes, it seems that thousands of ships are moored to their homeland tonight. You can almost hear waves lapping as the sea gently rocks the ships to sleep, safe in their harbor.   
  
You stutter, "Whoa."   
  
Trinity seems unaffected by the sight, just mildly interested and somehow grim. You wonder how many of these ships will return again. You marvel that there are so many left. The glass if half empty and half full. Behind her, Joo and the others have caught up. You scan the area nervously in search of a hole you can crawl into. You don't feel up to playing hide-and-seek amongst the ships.   
  
You're completely at your wit's end, almost resigned to dancing with teenaged girls half your age when Trinity turns to them calmly.   
  
"You're not allowed here," she shoots to the group. "Soldiers only. We're here to check on our ship. Urgent repairs, no need to bother anyone else."   
  
"I'll come right back… later on," you add hastily. "Give me… an hour."   
  
Trinity gives Joo a glare she usually reserves for when she's feeling really pissed about something. You feel suddenly rather sorry for the group as they leave, positively quivering. You're alone with Trinity again.   
  
"So… do you want to look at the Neb, soldier, or do you just want to go back?" You ask Trinity. Right at the corner of the shipyard, you spot the familiar pair of gray doors you have so longed to see. "There's an elevator over there," you point out. You wonder how Trinity could have missed it.   
  
"That's- an elevator. We might as well go back," Trinity agrees. She'd hesitated, you can tell. Still, you carry yourself by the magnificent rows of ships over to the elevator at the corner. There's an enormous ramp leading up to the elevator, it's presumably a cargo lift, from its rough but durable, industrial-sized appearance. The doors grind open sluggishly and you step in, hitting the button for your floor. Both of you are on the fourth floor. You move to the back of the elevator, Trinity following suit.   
  
You have no idea how long this will actually be.   
  
---   
  
The lit cranks up cantankerously, heaving uncertainly, as if torn between going up and going down. You watch the numbers above the elevator doors lighting up in turn. Second floor.   
  
Trinity looks down at the floor. She seems to enjoy looking at floors whenever you look at her, yet you don't quite know why. You've never found joy in counting the cracks in the floor.   
  
The number two flickers off, and three lights up. The elevator rumbles and the floor of the elevator actually shakes. You look at Trinity again, but she seems completely unperturbed by the elevator, like she's expected all of this. Perhaps most of Zion's elevators worked this way. Trinity's barely spoken since her lecture to the girls. You find yourself wishing she would look back at you.   
  
The number three winks. You wait for the number four to come on, and for the elevator to come to a stop. The four never does. Instead, the elevator scrapes and screeches, metal clanking against metal. Jolting several times, it finally came to a stop.   
  
You're just feeling grateful when the lights flicker and go out.   
  
"Oh, crap." 


	3. Chapter three

A/N: Sorry I took this long with this. Crawling through my journal of chicken scratches where I'd scribbled disjointed paragraphs here and there (not in order, mind) was killing my eyes. I felt compelled to, ah, resume, when my reviews suddenly doubled (snicker, shameless plug). Still, I don't write for the reviews, but they are nice. Well, enough of me, just know that I've got a lot of material for the other chapters and that everyone should get Josh Groban's new album! Yes! Every word is gorgeous.

By the way, I was sort of stuck in an elevator for more than ten minutes, in the dark, 

and I'm aware that it does get a mite stuffy…

Centaur, you're the best. Jie, if that's not a dorky conversation topic, I don't know what is. Well, that's still true.

__

But what's the point if I'm concealing not only love… all other feeling? ~ Where I want to be, Chess soundtrack

__

You better let somebody love you before it's too late. ~ Eagles, Desperado

"The lift's stuck. So now what?" You blink, hard, several times, until you start to see dim outlines in the darkness.

You're feeling rather silly standing in the dark while Trinity fumbles with what appears to be the control panel on the opposite side of the lift. After a few moments, she curses quietly. The slightest sound echoes around the silent cell.

"Nobody's answering the bell," she mutters. You hear her pressing the button several times over. "It looks like everyone's at the gathering."  


"Shit." No wonder it was so packed. "When will they be back?"

"Most likely, tomorrow morning."

Rewind.

You're in a fairly small elevator with your female second in command, in the dark, where no one can hear you. You're stuck for the night. 

At least the elevator is well ventilated – there's a residually large gap between the elevator doors; probably a result of its being jammed or pried apart once too often. The air will be stale later, but perhaps warmer.

"It looks like we're in for a long wait, then," you comment dryly, moving over to examine the control panel. You wonder if pressing all the buttons will do any good. You've always wanted to do that.

A dull thud resounds from behind, but it's just Trinity resting her head against the wall. It sounds like a good idea to you, but you've gone barely three steps before eliciting a sharp gasp. Trinity's sitting down, after all, you've just trampled on her hand. With delicate care, you manage to sit down without bumping into her again. 

"How long till daybreak?" you ask after just a moment. You feel as if you're asking, "Are we there yet?"

"I don't know, maybe six hours."

You wonder out loud what you'll do until then.

Trinity makes no reply to that.

"Can I ask you a few questions?" you venture nervously, after attempting and failing to study your fingernails for the third time. Being in the dark is very dull.

She asks, with a touch of hesitation in her voice, "about what?"

You stop. You didn't really think of what you were going to ask her. In the end, you ask her the first question that pops into your mind.

"Well, do you think we're going to die?"

"That's a nice question," she comments wryly.

You suddenly realize how morbid you sounded. "Actually, I was just wondering if the elevator was going to crash."

"Zion hasn't seen an equipment malfunction for a long time. We're safe."

"Oh."

You trail off there, trying to think of another question. 

"How long will we be staying in Zion?"

"Depends on how long we need to recharge the ship."

"How long is that?"

"Twenty-four, maybe thirty hours."

"Well, at least we know Morpheus won't leave without us." You add with a leaden tone. You've just answered your second question too.

You ask yourself, this time, why Trinity's being so passive and resolute over the jammed elevator. You'd expect her to have single-handedly reduced the cage to iron filings by now. 

You just discover the meaning of the famous state of being off-duty.

"Neo?"

You blink. You just realize how close you were to falling asleep in your thoughts. "Trinity?"

"'Course it's me." You can hear a suppressed smile in that. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Okay," you reply, shaking yourself mentally, "maybe I will, too."

You hear the material of Trinity's dress – that gorgeous dress – sliding against the floor as she shifts around, trying to get into a comfortable position. Something, her knee, probably, bumps your thigh. You expect her to pull away, but instead her shoulder touches yours. You feel as though you can feel every slightest movement she makes. You realize she's shivering slightly. 

"It's getting cold in here, Neo," she whispers. 

"O- no, that's… not good. Erm." You drop your words there abruptly, hoping feverishly that a thermostat would fall from the sky. When none does, you try to remember all the things that have kept you warm before. Hot milk. Blankets. Sweaters…

Sweaters. No wonder she was cold! You lift your oversized shirt over your head quickly and shove it, perhaps a bit too eagerly, in her general direction. There's a pause.

"Neo?" Voice husky with sleepiness.

"Don't worry about me," you say pompously, "put it on."

Trinity does so. You hear her yawn as she settles against you again, but it sounds, strangely, more like a sigh. Feeling for her hand in the darkness and for once finding it, you're surprised to find it nearly as warm as yours. You squeeze it gently all the same. Body heat always was one of the best defenses against the cold.

Trinity murmurs something into your shoulder that, to you, sounds suspiciously like "let go". You do, but she makes no move away from you. You find you're not especially uncomfortable with her nestled next to you. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, and she stops fidgeting. She's gone to sleep with her head leaning on your shoulder. You think about what she said.

Soon you realize that you _are_ feeling cold. Funny, considering everything Tank ever told you about Zion being in the earth, 'where it's still warm'. Judging by the diameter of your oversized sleeve, you can probably get it off Trinity's arm with some fancy fingering. She hasn't buttoned the front, which is good news for you, since you never were really good at fancy fingering.

You're not _stealing_ it, it's yours, and you'll share it anyway… it's a bit of a stretch to make it into a blanket, but if you can-just-get-it-off…

With slight trepidation, you tug gently on one sleeve, the one further from you which you can reach with both hands. Unfortunately, that's all the more encouragement Trinity needs in believing that you are a pillow. She rolls on her side and ends up landing gently on you.

Initially, you were glad she'd fallen asleep, because she kept asking you questions you couldn't quite answer. You're not exactly rushing to wake her up… and besides, she's very warm. At least, you try to tell yourself that when the truth is, you like watching her. No matter how dim the lighting, she's beautiful when she sleeps. She's beautiful when she's awake, too, but if she ever caught you staring at her like that, she'd probably… throw you to the other end of the room. Or something like that.

You wish you could see her face. The warmth of her neck, resting on yours, though, makes up for the loss. Her hair feels soft, covering your ear. Slowly, her quiet breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest against yours, lulls you to slumber.

Some part of your functioning mind reminds you that you'll have cramps tomorrow if you sleep with your neck against the wall at its current angle. Cautiously, you slide down until you're lying prostrate on the cold metal floor, Trinity beside you and gently crushing you.

Your right hand is pinned down, but your left strays to her back. You tell yourself you're only holding her to keep her from falling. You never were good at answering questions.

How long till morning?

You're left with the foolish issue in mind as you fade out of consciousness. At least you'll have sweet dreams tonight.

~*~


	4. Chapter four

A/N: Sorry for the long A/N. Just to say I'm going with the sequels. Yes, the ending too. I know not everyone liked it, but even if we don't, I think we respect the ending that the Wachowskis decided on - after all, they're responsible for all of this. ^^  
  
I would love to update more often. I'm sorry I'm so slow. If anyone's seen Déjà vu, though, they'd know what my computer does when I upload things. So I have to forcibly grab people to upload things for me. Then I've got holiday homework and la, back to school in January!  
  
Note: I found the line "... because the Oracle had said she would meet the One, and that she would fall in love with him - but Trinity knew what it might mean, when she hadn't been told expressly that she could keep him." In Of the flesh and binary. Forgive me. This has been the inspiration for the whole fic, and I've only just found it.  
  
Centaur is again the best. I'm saving the argument for later. Zephy, (that's your name now), I hope the fight makes you happy. Without GypsyLemon, there would be no chapters. GrinningRandomElf, I can't believe you reviewed - I loved 'Body heat is the best defence against the cold'! ^^ And Xianny, sugar Neo is for licking, not chewing!  
  
MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!!  
  
Isaiah 58:9 - Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.  
  
No! Sugar Neo for chewing! *munches Sugar Neo up* ~ Xianny  
  
Neo has hot stubble! ~ Xianny  
  
You come to your senses slowly. You're warm, not feverish, just warm - too warm to be back in your bed onboard ship. There's a strong laundry smell, the coarse soap you use to wash sheets or clothes. Zion flashes through your mind. Where were you last night?  
  
The elevator; Neo. You open your eyes. There's a solid wall just in front of your face. Blinking quickly, you sit up. Your head brushes another's - Neo's. You wipe sweat from your neck. You can feel your heart pounding almost at a frenzied rate as you scramble off him, you've practically fallen asleep on his shoulder - face burning - on lap even. You only calm down when you realize - thankfully - that's he's still fast asleep. At least, his eyes are closed, though his mouth is open. You smile, glad he can't see you. Damn, damned cute.  
  
You stopped last night, here with him. because the lift jammed. The thought makes you smile, again. For once, the old lift works in your favor. The lights are fully on, though, which means the power must be back online.  
  
Neo snores quietly in agreement.  
  
Easing yourself off him, you get to your feet. Then you change your mind, kneeling by his side, taking in his sleeping features.  
  
You don't recall sleeping on top of him - in fact, you barely remember falling asleep at all. Maybe. And then there was his hand, resting on the small of your back, fingers cool and questing on the gap where the hem of your shirt has ridden up. You flush - he probably had a very clear view down your shirt last night.  
  
You focus your attention back on the elevator panel. Apparently, it's still under repair - none of the buttons are lighted up yet. You recall being nearly at the fourth floor.  
  
There's no one answering the intercom.  
  
You hear a groan behind you.  
  
Stoically, you gaze at the elevator buttons. There are times you wonder if you truly like him as a person, or whether you're just after his warm almond eyes or his smile. Most often, though, you wonder what he wonders. It's funny how he can seem so young, when he must be nearly ten years your senior. For now, though, you are his senior.  
  
"The lights are back on, but the elevator still isn't going anywhere," you inform him tonelessly. "The good news is that it's currently under repair." (Neo grunts.) "Should be up in a little while."  
  
You become aware of Neo standing behind you. His eyes are slits, and he's rubbing them furiously. His hair has somehow succeeded to be tousled to the point of defying gravity.  
  
"Sleep well?" you ask him, casually.  
  
He attempts a solemn expression, which comes out as a slightly sloppy - but equally adorable nonetheless - grin. "As well as you did."  
  
You almost blush, wishing the lights would go out again so he wouldn't be able to tell. He has such high opinions of his shoulders.  
  
The smile slowly gives way to a yawn. Neo goes back to his homegrown monosyllabacy. He motions for you to move aside.  
  
"The intercom isn't-" you stop yourself as Neo starts pounding the unlit elevator buttons. "What are you doing?"  
  
He stops abruptly, looking sheepishly back at you. "It worked in my old flat."  
  
"Well, keep at it, Mr. Fix-it."  
  
You watch in amusement as Neo proceeds to very systematically hammer each elevator button in turn. Nothing happens. He repeats the sequence, backwards, but still nothing happens.  
  
Neo catches your inexorable smile out of the corner of his eye. He flashes you back one, properly awake now. It hits you that he's been showing off, of all things. and you've found you like it. Neo raises a fist dramatically, taking aim.  
  
And the lights die again.  
  
Stunned, stung silence.  
  
Then, laughter. Unexpected laughter. Yours.  
  
"This place doesn't work the way I want it to," Neo grumbles, somewhere very close to your right ear. He shuffles even near, and you can hear a button being cautiously prodded. "What's so funny?"  
  
You're still laughing as you reply, "You broke the elevator!"  
  
"I did not," he mutters indignantly, punching more buttons.  
  
"Well then, fix it."  
  
Something pokes you in the back.  
  
"The elevator, Neo."  
  
"I can't see anything. You can try."  
  
You'd been waiting for that. You slam him against the control panel. The buttons dig into his spine and he yelps, more out of surprise than pain. "The elevator is fixing you."  
  
"What was that for?"  
  
"Revenge," you say, as innocently as you can while blindly pinning his other arm to the panel. His breath is warmth and fury on your neck again, but he seems in torment. Probably thinking of how he kept stepping on your fingers.  
  
For nearly a minute you struggle against him, savoring the dragging fatigue in your aching muscles which separates the feeling of a fight in the real world from one in the matrix. Palms slick with sweat are your eyes. You feel him there in the hot and heavy darkness.  
  
A tiny red light flickers on. Something crackles.  
  
"Now you've gone and broken something," Neo grunts between breaths.  
  
You pause a fraction of a second. Enough time for Neo to pin one of your arms behind your back. You gasp, before kneeing him somewhere in the ribs. "It's the intercom. You answer."  
  
"What do you want me to say?"  
  
"Anything that'll bring them running."  
  
"I'm being attacked," he manages feebly. Releasing the button, he looks back at you, or at least, you think he does. "You do strange things for fun."  
  
The entire elevator jolts again, like there's an invisible beast stomping around in it. You knock him over when he looses his footing. His attempt at a sweeping kick is too slow, and the last thing he expects is for you to land on him - which you do -  
  
"I give," Neo chokes out, flopping on the ground in mock-surrender. You're kneeling on his thighs.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Oof. I mean, yes."  
  
You loosen your grip ever so slightly, but don't let go of his arms. Bending low over him, you stay just above him, enough so as to leave a slight gap between his body and yours. You whisper directly in his ear, "I'm not done with you yet."  
  
Your lips graze his ear lobe. Just briefly, just once. You lick your lips gingerly. Lioness, keeping her prize to herself. "I'm going to have to punish you."  
  
(Georgie-porgie.)  
  
"What for?" He's breathing faster now.  
  
(Pudding and pie.) You shrug. "Same reason."  
  
Neo snorts. "I see." (Kissed the girls.)  
  
Your lips are trailing further down now, following his strong jaw line. He has cute stubble. "Stop asking questions, coppertop." (And made them cry.)  
  
You close your eyes; you're just about there, there, close enough; where it's warm, where his soft breath mingles with yours; that place where you can feel every bead of sweat trailing down your skin, where you can feel your resolve weakening, your arms slipping, your bodies touching and your lips just meeting his-  
  
Hard, glaring lights claw their way forcefully past your closed lids; you pause to catch your breath for a quarter of a second-  
  
In a whirl of gray, you're on your back, facing the ceiling. You squint up against the lights directly in your eyes. Neo's sitting on your chest, grinning happily down at you and looking very pleased with himself.  
  
"Got you this time," he crows.  
  
Dammit. You sigh. "Such a gentleman."  
  
When the elevator jolts again, this time decidedly upwards, you thrust your entire weight upwards, but Neo, smugly, doesn't move an inch. This time, though, the elevator stops by itself, rather than a mechanically induced jerk to prevent it from falling. It's back under control.  
  
Your breath catches in your throat. From the corner of your eye, the door starts to open.  
  
"Neo, get off," you whisper urgently. Your struggle is futile. Neo only grins back.  
  
"Nope. Not falling for that one."  
  
"The doors are opening," you hiss between your teeth. If you tilt your head to the right, you can see the gap in the doors as it widens - empty. For now.  
  
Neo chuckles. "Even if the doors are opening, nobody will be out there."  
  
Oh, you wish. You grind your teeth and roll as hard as you can to the left. With yet another, "Oof!", you manage to wedge Neo against the wall. With your remaining momentum, you force yourself on one knee, and then unsteadily stand.  
  
The lift doors open completely. Fresh air pours into the elevator.  
  
If there hadn't been anyone outside the lift, you probably would have screamed in fury over wasted effort. Instead, a very familiar face stares back at you.  
  
"Link?"  
  
"Trinity?" Link grins at you, white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark skin. His dreadlocks swing as he talks. "What's a chick like you doing stuck in the old junk bucket?"  
  
You desperately try to stop him from saying more, but that isn't necessary as he turns his attention to Neo, sprawled on the floor, who groans at that precise moment. Link blinks a few times, before grinning again. "Hey, Trinity, who's this?"  
  
From his expression, it's clear he's already made his mind up. Neo is grinning sheepishly up at Link now. It makes him look guilty, if nothing else. Maybe he's just dazed.  
  
"Trinity?"  
  
You recognize that voice. You definitely recognize that voice. A moment later, Morpheus steps out from the side of the elevator.  
  
"I heard that two of my crewmembers were shouting down the intercom," he begins sternly.  
  
Then he stops. An odd sort of expression closes over his face. He mouth twitches, like he's got a frog in there trying to hop out. He takes a deep gulping breath. "The intercom in the shipyard elevator."  
  
Morpheus coughs very fakely. Neo looks quite plainly uneasy. You wonder if he could be sick. Or worse, delirious.  
  
Link cuts in, "Maybe I should inform them, sir."  
  
Morpheus manages a quick nod before breaking into a slow jog, clutching his stomach as he runs. It's the strangest sight you've ever seen.  
  
"Is Morpheus. okay?" Neo asks, standing beside you outside the elevator.  
  
"More than okay. He's improving his health, prolonging his years." Link snickers. "Anyway, it'll be another ten hours before we head out again. He says to get some rest."  
  
"We?"  
  
For the first time, Link's expression changes. "Yeah, we. I'm coming." He flips his dreadlocks out of his face with a careless hand and a sigh. "I'm your new operator."  
  
You nod, though Neo probably doesn't know why. Maybe his job would be easier if he didn't know - have to know - that his sacrifices were two-way.  
  
"I'll see you in ten hours, then." You step fully out of the elevator. Glancing behind, you see Neo do the same. You try to catch his gaze, but he doesn't look back at you.  
  
The elevator door grates peacefully shut, like a formidable beast going into slumber. Neo looks down at the ground, shuffling his feet a bit, as if trying to decide which direction to head.  
  
You have to ask him, "Where are you going?"  
  
Neo looks up. His flickering gaze seems to avoid yours - most likely riveted over your shoulder, to Link, who's within hearing distance. Uncomfortably, he replies, "Back to my room, I guess." His eyes slowly meet yours, but his words have more difficulty. "You have something in mind?"  
  
Yes, I do?  
  
Do you?  
  
You?  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
A final glance would be too painful. You walk away from all you are hopelessly in love with, deeply bruised. Along the way you find your captain, ducked in an alley, clutching the wall for support, still laughing. 


	5. Nonchapter: Parody of Architect

Warning: This is a parody. Not a chapter, sorry. The real scene will look nothing like this when I get round to it.  
  
Before you stone me, I have three good reasons for not updating! One, SCHOOL has started! Two, I haven't written that much, and I can't jolly well upload bits of chapters. Three, I, uh, finished this ages ago and I didn't upload it. ^^;; Some kind soul has uploaded it for me. Thank you, kind soul.  
  
What finally compelled me to upload was. a bunch of nice reviews. *drops hints noisily* Sorry! But anyway, I promise I'll write. I will. Matrix bliss is eternal. Yeah, so is my mountain of homework.  
  
The song clip is taken from 'Endgame' from the soundtrack of the musical, Chess. Everyone ought to listen to that. ^^  
  
---  
  
Neo draws himself up to heroic heights. His dashing black cape billows out behind him, though there is no wind. Light sparkles off the rim off his sunglasses, shading his soft, dreamy brown eyes.  
  
You gaze, lovingly, in wonder. With his smooth, fair skin, he could be a marble statue in your eyes.  
  
With a light leap, Neo soars across the room and lands soundlessly on the enormous white desk. He appears calm and completely in control, yet every fiber of his (gorgeous) body simmers with rage. The Architect shrinks back, quivering in his chair.  
  
Neo takes a step forward. It echoes ominously around the room. The television screens flash various images of the Architect, whose hair is all now standing on end.  
  
Neo takes a deep breath and begins to sing.  
  
"Nothing you have said is revelation!"  
  
It booms around the room, a thousand crashing waves of sound, as though the whole room is singing. Choirs of the One line the walls of the room.  
  
Gravely, Neo intones, "Take my blues as read." It's like hitting the lowest note on the piano, over and over again. The ceiling resounds and throbs.  
  
Several of the Neos in the television screens miss the point slightly, and their trench coats turn either red or blue as a result. One particularly funky One flashes psychedelic colours.  
  
Likewise, the Architect's pasty face like a rumpled cream puff slowly takes on a greenish hue. Neo advances another step forward.  
  
"My consolation-"  
  
With one swift, graceful action, he yanks the Architect's pointer away with two fingers. Neo waves it above his head in a clear, perfect arc, and like a magic wand, every single television in the room changes to a single image.  
  
Trinity.  
  
"-finding out that she's my one. true."  
  
Neo closes his (beautiful) eyes, focusing hard. The Architect trembles.  
  
".obligaaaaaaaaa."  
  
The Architect is very green.  
  
".aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."  
  
A few psychedelic Neos return.  
  
".aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."  
  
The glass on the television screens vibrates.  
  
"-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaation!"  
  
Everything happens at once - the television screens around the room shatter into millions of pieces. You cover your head with your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Architect falling sideways out of his chair, smoke pouring out of his ears.  
  
"And that is why you should never watch too much television," you hiss at him. He groans.  
  
You're distracted by a soft rush of air to your left. Neo. He strides confidently over to the door. Never missing a beat, he opens and closes the door behind him in one fluent, calculated move.  
  
He is so cute.  
  
You're left in the smoking wreckage and broken glass of a very empty room. The Architect doesn't stir.  
  
You sigh, and wonder what on earth Neo was eating before you tried to write a chapter with him. 


	6. Chapter five

A/N: I have no excuses for this, besides that I was not in a writing mood after Revo. Waaaah! Anyway, no excuses, just a lot of gratitude for everyone who's waited for this. Thank you so much.

Most embarrassing was the fact that I could have split this chapter into two and uploaded it MONTHS ago. That and the fact that I managed to do up the whole chapter in less than an hour in these months! Okay, beat me with Neo-sticks! BEAT ME, I DESERVE IT.

Thanks for the reviews. They're really helping. Yes, my tone has slipped considerably – I'm having too much fun! Bad Jenn! *pulls a straight face* It slips around here too, but I promise the next chapter will be more coherent.

Kudos to anyone who gets the half-reference to 'there is no spoon'.

---

_I am de Merovinnndian!_ ~ Raen

---

Chapter three

It's hard not to question. Yet it's the role of a soldier – to follow. It brought you here, and, ironically, is bringing you out again, empty-handed. Mindless. Soulless. Don't think, just play along.

You watch the restaurant contract as the doors of the elevator seal. One of the twins blows you a kiss. You don't appreciate it. You're not worried about lustful programs chasing after you – it wasn't a friendly face.

The doors shut and the elevator hums, descending gently. You wonder what you will do now. 

"Well, that didn't go so well," Neo comments. You tell yourself not to tense up. Lately, you've been wary about going into elevators with him. After Zion, you can only wonder what he thinks of you, and wish you didn't have to.

"Are you sure the Oracle didn't say anything else?" The Oracle. The question you ask him is the question you've been asking yourself. It's been so conscious in your mind lately that it spills from your lips thoughtlessly. 

Get a grip. Please say you don't expect answers from him.

"Yes."

He sounds so sure of himself. He's beginning to change places with you.

You can't stop thinking, though, of your own predicament. "Maybe we did something wrong."

"Or didn't do something," Neo contributes dully. His tone corrodes you. He might be just as confused.

Morpheus jams a bolt in your thoughts. Firmly, he states, "No, what happened happened and couldn't have happened any other way."

"How do you know that?"

"We are still alive."

His logic is notoriously impeccable, not only correct but also completely frustrating. Oh, captain my captain. One of life's constants.

Neo.

The Oracle said you would fall in love with the One. She never said he would love you back.

Maybe this is where your path ends. Maybe-

The doors open. Persephone – the Merovingian's wife – stands framed within the doorway. Her voice is richly accented, just enough so as to seem either sophisticated or abrasive. "If you want the Keymaker," she intones, "follow me."

You glance only once at Neo, who seems unperturbed. Persephone leads you down corridors like a white rabbit, and you follow her.

It's not your role to question.

-

Initially, you'd returned to your room to sleep, or at least to rest, but your thoughts only mounted, propping you up until you sat on the edge of your bed. The more you try to clear your head, the more it clutters.

Persephone.

You can almost hear her voice saying, "When we first came here, it was so different. He was so different. He was like you."

You wondered what could ever have made the Merovingian like you. You only speak English and high school Spanish. 

She finished applying her lipstick and turned around again, preening. You admit that it was hard not to look at her. 

"I'll give you what you want, but you have to give me something." She leant forwards.

"What?" What could she have possibly wanted from you?

Persephone flashed you a smile like that of a purring cat. Apparently she was very pleased with herself – Little Miss Cheshire, curling around a metaphorical tree branch. "A kiss."

Before you even had time to absorb the full meaning of the request, Trinity fired an immediate response.

"Why should we trust you?"

"You don't have to," Persephone passed smoothly, "only he does." 

A kiss for the Keymaker. It sounded like a decent deal to you. Just decent.

"Okay," you told her. Morpheus nodded, but, eyes shielded behind her glasses, you couldn't tell if Trinity was looking at you or not. She certainly wasn't facing you.

Resigned, you looked at Persephone again. She's beautiful, yes, but somehow just not… attractive. She isn't real. You forced that thought into your head as you stepped within a few inches of her, and then she stopped you suddenly, placing one hand gracefully over your collarbone, just touching your shoulder.

Heels clicking, she tiptoed, pressing into your shoulder for needless additional balance, flaunting the plunging front of her dress. Your face was half buried in her hair as she slowly whispered, "I want you to kiss me like you were kissing her."

Your fingertips lightly touch the part on your neck where her whisper lingers, clinging to you like an oil spill. Asphyxiating. (Kiss Persephone.)

Nothing like Trinity. Trinity's touch was… soothing. Tender. Caring. 

(Kiss Persephone, but like you were kissing Trinity.)

Something screams, _that's some kind of oxymoron, isn't it?_

Your eyes flickered tentatively to Trinity, hours ago. The same thought struck you then, but her expression, light cutting through her tinted lenses at just that angle, extinguished it on the spot.

You wanted to ask Persephone so many things. How did she know…? You yourself hardly know what you think of Trinity, though you see her every night. Jumping. Shooting. Falling. 

Sometimes your dreams are not nightmares. 

Could there have been something in your code that Persephone could be reading? Hardly likely, but then, could it have been a lucky guess?

Persephone's lips gently traced your jaw line, then nudged your earlobe, settling there. You suddenly shivered, you couldn't help yourself. Her lips were icy cold.

You didn't even have time to object before she continued, "You love her."

It was full, complete stop and not the mark of an uncertain question. The thought makes your stomach roll over and your heart stop, even now. You love Trinity, and Persephone's the one who knows it. 

"A long time ago, I knew what that felt like." She pressed her forehead against yours, turning her face so you were cheek to cheek. Her sideward gaze was almost sly, right into your eyes from under your glasses. And her smile was predatory, rapacious, haunting, hinting. 

"I want to remember it. I want to sample it." Her teeth were like daggers, and she parted their bloody sheath. "That's all, just a sample."

You wouldn't have minded just a moment before – before you cast a sideways glance at Trinity. Her eyes were tightly shut. It's not for privacy's sake - her fingers were wrapped around her gun. Persephone unsettled her. That much was clear. But she hadn't heard, couldn't have… how had _she_ known?

Your head spun with women. You've heard somewhere, something about trusting them. Or not. 

If you waited, or thought, for just one more second, Trinity might've started firing blindly from where she stood. Her knuckles were white.

And so you kissed her. Her, being Persephone. One quick caress of her lips - a summary of all the confusion in your heart. Your lips nearly froze to hers. 

Persephone literally didn't have time to draw breath before you pulled away. Yet she didn't release you – only pulled you closer. Her retort was heavy in your ear. 

"Terrible."

The voracious half-smile returned.

Her fingers slid fleetingly past your eyes like a frosty gust of wind. Before you realized what she was doing, your glasses were in her hand. You looked down at her with eyes that felt naked.

Her breath was smoky. Incense, not from a cigarette or a pipe. She confidently rested her hands on your shoulders. She captured your lips – oh, ice – leaned into you. You lowered your eyelids, and the last thing to go was the triumphant gleam of her smile.

Persephone was the driving force, the hunger, rushing into your empty harbours. Her tongue nudged yours and triggered an insatiable twitch somewhere bade you clutch her as your anchor, lest you be shipwrecked ashore. It felt like hours without oxygen, like how you awoke in a pod of pink gel with a tube rammed down your throat, when you were being forced to breathe. You tasted every word she'd spoken like poison, like acid that gnawed at your gums. 

When she let you go, you were surprised not to see grimy slush pouring from your mouth. You'd rather spit, but you swallowed hard. Something tickled the back of your throat, and your stomach felt as though an iron fist is wringing it. 

You take a deep, calming breath. You let it out slowly. It feels good to be in control of yourself again.

You'd looked up, then, to see Persephone smirking at Trinity. Had you seen Trinity flinch, out of the corner of your eye? No… Trinity never slips.

You'd looked away shortly after, because you knew Trinity was glaring back, but not at Persephone. You recall the scathing look she gave the Twins. You felt worse, much worse, than any program could have ever felt. 

(Trinity, Trinity, Trinity. I feel the need to apologize, and I'm saying sorry to you.)

You admitted to yourself that you were ashamed to take your proffered glasses back from Persephone. All you wanted was for her to evaporate on the spot and leave the Keymaker. She didn't. Instead, she leaned over your shoulder again. What she said disturbed you, and still does. You remember – frighteningly – that you felt like you could kill her when she told you-

The grating of your door as it opens diverts your stream of thoughts. The sight amazes you.

"Trinity?"

She looks up quickly. "I thought you were asleep," she states simply, as means of explanation for her being here. She sets the tray she's been carrying on the small chest of drawers by your bed.

"You've been bringing me food?"

"I thought you might be sleeping," she repeats, in that same toneless tone. "I saved you some dinner in case… in case you got hungry."

Every time you'd skipped dinner for the past six months, at least, you'd woken up to find a tray next to your bed. You'd sort of assumed that Morpheus had nothing better to do with leftovers.

"It's okay. I'm… not really hungry." You swallow. She pins you with a knowing gaze, and it feels like the breath's going out of your lungs. "Yet," you add. 

Your neck cricks from craning your head to look at her. You wish you could draw a chair up for her, but you have nothing of that sort in your room. "Are you going to…" You make a vague gesture for sitting towards her.

She raises her eyebrows and quickly says, "If you want me to leave…"

Perhaps too vague, or too much towards her. You touch her arm as she turns, and it works. "No, don't."

- - -

"You went to the oracle, didn't you?"

"So did you."

"No one goes more than once. She must have had a lot to say to you."

"She… asked me about these dreams I've been having." He fixes his gaze determinedly to the floor.

"You never told me what they were about," I remind him, genuinely curious.

His reaction is almost funny. He peeks at you, something like a mouse peeking out of its hole and, deciding that you are a cat, hurriedly stares down at the floor again. 

"You won't tell Morpheus?" he mumbles, half-pleadingly.

"No." He would have told the captain himself if it had been important. "You can tell me."

"Well…" A slow blush creeps up his neck as he looks at you again. "You're in them."

You stare at him.

Instantly he appears to regret what he said, stammering, "Not like that." Hastily he adds, "The oracle said… I had the sight. I think… I think I was seeing my future."

So you're a part of his future?

Pushing that thought quickly aside, you frown and say, "Is it part of being the One? If you've been seeing anything else…"

"No." His reply is rooted, his gaze pensive. Maybe you've scratched the surface of the deep pool he swims in, frozen over though it is. Abruptly he turns himself around and asks, "How do you make up your mind, Trinity?"

The tried and trusted answer floats to your lips, and you unsuccessfully keep it down. "I follow."

"What happens when you have to lead? How do you make choices?" 

The words don't sound like his own. You search for the words that will explain it the clearest.

"It's faith," you say simply.

_It's heart._

His gaze holds yours another moment. "I didn't mean that. Let's say I knew all the choices you were going to make. How would you make a choice then?"

"Maybe you'd still make it. You'd know exactly what I wanted to say, but I'd still make that choice. Unless you told me."

He sighs, head to palm, elbow to knee. His tone is weary, on the brink of bitter. "It's like this, Trinity. Right now, I'm making the choices. On faith. And that's why the Oracle can't tell us everything. Wait, but she said I wasn't making the choices." His brow furrows, you can almost see the cogs turning slowly in his head. "I'd already made them. I was just coming, waiting to understand them."

You can just hear him whisper to himself, "World without time."

"You've got to let time go. Let everything play out, Neo." The advice is empty on your ears.
    
    He closes his eyes. "I hope so."
    
    Despite the gravity of the situation, you realize he's the largest teddy bear you've ever seen. Desperate for solace and a hug.

It takes time, but he turns to face you again.

- - -

"She told me that I had left something… unfulfilled."

As expected, alarm briefly registers on Trinity's features. "Like something incomplete?"

You shake your head. What the Oracle told you is beginning to sound stranger and stranger each minute. "She used the word 'unrequited'. Something important. Something that's 'been staring me in the face, all along'." You sigh. "I only remember you unplugging me after that."

Trinity has an oddly closed expression on her face – like she's trying to conceal something struggling to burst free. "Is that all she told you?"

"Morpheus knows the rest," you answer, as a reply. You know Morpheus tells Trinity everything. Sometimes you wonder, staggering under the weight of leadership, skepticism and faith, how very lonely that man could be.

She replies earnestly, "I want to hear it from you."

Did her eyes brighten, or was it just a trick of the light?

"You jacked in, we saw you fighting an unknown program… and you disappeared after that." She studies your face again, and her eyes pierce your gaze. It seems as though the can know everything you're thinking just by looking at you. It's an unnerving feeling. There is plenty you'd rather she not knew… and plenty you wish she did.

She presses on, "That program followed you to the Oracle, didn't it?"

"Yeah. Chinese restaurant – new hideout for a program, apparently."

Trinity raises her eyebrows. "No noodles?"

"No, he was drinking tea," you answer distractedly. Her reply reminds you of something. Something she said at least a half year ago that felt a lot longer than it was. "You still haven't told me what the Oracle said to you, when you went to see her."

You are genuinely interested in knowing, but you'd meant that last comment much less seriously than Trinity seems to realize. Every now and then, when you least expect it, you let slip something that just bruises her. 

Steadily, steely blue eyes again looking beyond yours, she says, "That was a long time ago."

Yes, that sound familiar too, yes, the first time you met her, at the club, she'd said that to you. When you'd mistakenly called her a guy, and she'd wanted to change the subject. To be honest, you remember mostly how the leather clung to her skin, how warm her words sounded in your ear, tempting with the allure of the rare and the unknown. Still, you can't help but ask again, "What did she tell you?"

She flashes you the thin, tight-lipped smile of an oyster, and just as quickly, it vanishes again. Like that time in the car on the way to the Oracle. Homemade déjà vu in reverse. 

Trinity is silent, just thinking. You wish you could read her features the way she reads yours. She keeps looking as if she wants to tell you something, only to swallow her stillborn words the next second. She finally begins, "She told me…"

Her look is troubled, and, as you have gradually come to realize, self-deprecating. This is the mask she wears when she's fighting a battle within herself. This is how she's dealt with her problems all along, and as much as you admire that, you cannot fathom why she won't discuss how she feels.

_It's faith._

You don't mean to touch her, but you hand ends up on top of hers. Trinity turns her palm over, feeling your fingers loosely as if she can't see them. She's done that a lot lately. 

"You can tell me," you echo, "just as friends."

You'd meant it in a forthcoming way, but Trinity suddenly pulls away, like your words have sharp edges. Your hand falls limply to the bed. You've just ruined another conversation with her. You could scream in frustration. She closes up every time you try to learn more about her.

The ship is eerily quiet, and her footsteps, usually whisper-silent, somehow remind you of the ticking of a clock. Just by the door, though, she stops. It looks almost like she's waiting for your permission to leave the room. You're just waiting for her to leave, when she unexpectedly turns around. Where Trinity is concerned, you can hardly hope for a routine. Did she catch your wishful expression as you were watching her go?

She looks at you and again, falters. In a cruel, unintended way, you have rendered her speechless.

"Was it something I said?" you finally ask, but she shakes her head.

"It's nothing… nothing you have said." She nods to your untouched bowl. "Finish your dinner."

You steal a quick glance at the tray. It's unlike Trinity to bring you food, but even more so to forget to bring something to eat it with. 

"Trinity?"

She turns back again – far too quickly. "Yes?"

You shouldn't push her, but you have to know.

"Why can't you tell me?"

You aren't really expecting an answer. Not really. Yet she quietly gives you one, a definite, well-rehearsed reply, along with the saddest smile you have ever seen. 

"Because you're the One, Neo."

The door closes, but you haven't the heart to eat. Somehow, without fail, Trinity leaves behind more than her touch or a basic, burning longing; she leaves a heartbreaking silence, and a void in you that never fills until you see her again, by your side or in your dreams; until you see yourself again, reflected in her eyes only.


End file.
